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How to Eat Dog Shit: A Condiments Guide
= How To Eat Dog Shit: A Condiments Guide = Before we get to the Funbag, two things. First of all, I'm on vacation next week. So we're gonna have another guest Funbag host to answer all your questions. To send a Funbag submission to our guest host, just email the tips line. The good thing about submitting questions to the guest host is that you get to skip over the three-week backlog of questions I have in my inbox. I'm lazy. Secondly, perhaps this new commenting system baffles and confuses you. HOWEVAH, the good news for you is that the Head Gay has ordered all us Gawker writers to be more active in comment section or, as I've been mandated to call it, the "discussion section." So yes, let us DISCUSS. Let us don tweed blazers and sip fine brandy and discuss the finer nuances of what would happen if it came to light that Tim Tebow was a terrorist. Now, your letters: Greg: You couldn't choose wasabi, because five ounces of wasabi would end up killing you. You'd want something that ideally masked the flavor of the turd. But let's face it, there's no masking that. And there's little hope of finding a topping that would pair well with dog shit, because dog shit is such an overpowering ingredient. Even Scott Conant's dreaded red onion wouldn't be able to match it. I think the only choice would have to be some kind of soft serve ice cream. It would go down easily, plus the cold would help numb your mouth while sucking down that greasy shit. You don't want a hot topping for dog poop. Trust me. And while you think a spicy topping would help shield you from the poopy taste, it would just make plowing through it take longer and ENHANCE the bold poopy flavors. Actually, forget the soft serve. I'd coat it with five ounces of Baby Orajel. It's a numbing agent. Sometimes, I put the baby's Orajel on my own lips, strictly for the vicarious thrill of feeling like I just left the dentist. Ryan: Noted. I think we can all agree that it's a sound idea to NOT sit on a toilet for 25 minutes with pieces of fudge ripple cake lodged in your crack. I have a three-year-old and the three-year-old is mostly toilet trained. He can go to the bathroom and pull his pants down and take a whizz and then flush the toilet, which is all well and good. He can also drop a deuce in the toilet. The only problem is that he doesn't know how to wipe yet. And sometimes, when he goes to the bathroom, I forget to ask him if he's taking a dump or of he's just taking a whizz. I just leave him to do his business and forget all about it. So one time, the three-year-old went to the bathroom and I sat there checking Twitter because I'm an awesome parent. Half an hour later, he's out of the bathroom, zooming around the TV room on his scooter when I smell poop. And then it hits me. "OH CHRIST, DID YOU GO POOPY?!" "Wes!" "Nooooooooooooo!!!!!!!" I plucked him off the scooter and the entire seat was smothered in shit paste. "GAHHHHHHHHHHH!" I picked him up and ran with him to the bathroom, unloading an entire package of Pampers wipes and furiously cleaning his butt. Then I grasped him by the shoulders and interrogated him: "Have you sat down ANYWHERE else in this house?" "No." "Just the scooter?" "Mmm hmm. The scooduh." "ARE YOU SURE?! LIVES DEPEND ON IT." "Mmm hmm." Then I put the scooter outside and asked my wife to clean it. I'm a man. Anyway, don't forget to wipe your ass, regardless of what age you are. Jayme: You know those nice Italian restaurants that have a full menu of appetizers and entrees AND an entire list of pizzas as well? Well, whenever I go to one of those restaurants with my folks, my mom will ALWAYS order an entire pizza for the table and then not take a single bite of it. Don't get me wrong. I'm a big fan of my parents buying me lots of food and then paying for it. But the "entire pizza" appetizer is a killer. Because everyone else at the table is nice and mannered, and they collectively eat a grand total of 1.5 slices. Meanwhile, I have to fight every urge in my body to wrap the entire pizza around my dick and fap with it. I always end up eating the eight other slices and disgusting everyone around me. Beware the starter pizza. Michael: Holy shit, look at that slide. Some of the type is sideways! What kind of cruel corporate drone does that to an audience? I feel like people should have to get a federal license in order to present Powerpoint decks. If your Powerpoint deck ends up looking like a goddamn kindergarten craft project, you should be forbidden by law from boring people to death with it. UPDATE: Yes, I know the slide says PERFORM FAP on it. It needed no further elaboration from me. Wade: Not really. Your dietary habits play a large role in how messy your turds are, and it's reasonable to assume that a fat person has that lousy dietary habits needed to drop down five gallons of vinegar diarrhea in the next stall over. That's not always true, of course. Skinny people are just as capable of eating poorly. But I can tell you as someone who has experience losing a great deal of weight that you do end up spending less time on the shitter. When I was 280 or so, I could spend hours sitting on a toilet, laying down some endless stream of French cabbage soup that would take eight rolls of paper and a BP cleanup crew to disinfect. But when you eat better, the end product is usually a bit cleaner. You wouldn't want to douse it in soft serve, but it's a more pleasant toilet experience, doubly so with the Metamucil. However, in an ironic twist, my farts smell worse than ever. So there's that. Pete: Obviously, it depends on the number of security guards involved. Even Barry Sanders would have a hard time slipping away when surrounded by twenty men, regardless of what shape those men are in. There's no one blocking on that play. He will be caught. In fact, I have drawn a graph that represents the time it takes to catch Barry in relation to the number of guards sent to fetch him: The y-axis represents time. The x-axis represents the number of guards. The penis I drew represents a penis. Anyway, zero guards never catch Barry, nor does just one. But once more and more guards are added, the faster he's caught. In fact, the rate of his getting caught accelerates with each guard added. You could do a whole calculus derivative of this, but I got a C- at calculus and don't really understand it. Still, look at the penis! Leonard: I would probably resort to alternative means and take to the airwaves WARNING people that Tim Tebow was plotting their demise. That way, I would be able to either A) Prevent the attack or B) Be able to say "I told you so" once the attack has happened. Nothing makes a sportswriter's dick harder than to predict something and then look all smart for having predicted it, and I'd be no exception there. The bombing would go down and then I'd run around screaming I TOLD YOU HE WAS EVIL BUT YOU DIDN'T LISTEN! It would be far more gratifying to expose Tebow as a fraud than to save thousands of people from burning to death. NO ONE DENIES THIS. HALFTIME! Shawn: That's a hard bargain. I'd accept those terms. In other news, having a garbage chute is one of the big perks of apartment living. You couldn't get me to empty the garbage fast enough when I lived in an apartment. Chuck a bag full of chicken juice and old underwear down six stories? FUCK AND YES, PLEASE. The time between putting the garbage in the chute and hearing it hit the bottom of the chute were some of the most exciting moments of my time living in New York (I didn't get out enough). I loved putting brittle objects in there as well. One time, I put a VCR in there and heard it shatter at the bottom. It was great. I wanted to go buy another one right away and throw it down as well. Sometimes, the garbage bag would be too big to fit in the chute, and so I'd have to really pound on the fucker to get it in, and then sometimes it would burst and leak garbage juice all over me and then I'd get all mad and be like SCREW YOU, BAG. Then I'd kick the fucker and it would finally go down and I felt as if I'd just successfully tamed a grizzly bear. There should be more chutes in life: garbage chutes, bank chutes, mail chutes, poop chutes... They're the best. My old building in New York had a mail chute that they didn't use anymore, and I had to fight against cramming my mail down it anyway. Ira: Well, let's see... In figs of this sort, the crunchy bits in the fruit contain both seeds and wasps. NOOOOOOOOOO!!! Is there any way I can undigest all the Fig Newtons and Fig Newmans I've eaten in my life? Because I want to divest myself of my entire Fig history. By the way, Fig Newtons are the single crumbliest entity ever devised by man. One bite and your lap looks a goddamn beach. They need to engineer a less crumbly Newton, and not the Fat Free ones. Those are brutal. Corey: Or what about MC Spank? SCMAYOR: I don't think people would alter their habits all that much. You would just have to be real swift with the Kleenex. No more, "Eh, I'll just go paint the toilet seat and worry about cleaning it up when I'm done." You can be lazy like that with semen as its currently constituted. "Hey, I'll just wipe that up with my undies. TIDE ERASES ALL MISTAKES." Not so with jizz paint. You'd have to get your timing down or else risk getting paint on your ears. But no man is gonna be deterred from his beloved fappage. No way no how. HOWEVAH, you didn't ask what the complications would be for the world of sexual intercourse with actual women, and that be a problem. No girl wants jizz paint all over her apartment. Think of the mess, not to mention the disapproving looks from mom and dad. You'd have to wear a rubber at all times, and God help you if that rubber breaks on you. Like a pen leaking through a shirt pocket. You'd never hear the end of it. Zach: Well clearly, Poland is plagued by Evil Polack Wizards who will magically transport you into a helicopter ejection seat. There are plenty of words in English for evil wizards, by the way. Like Necromancer. That's a wizard who bangs dead people (NOTE: Definition not reliable!). And then there are sorcerers, who are also always evil. No sorcerer sorcerers good things. They always sorcerer MEAN things, like giant bugs and three-headed shit demons. Avoid necromancers, sorcerers, and warlocks. Especially if they're Polish. I don't trust that Voldemort. Tony: First of all, let's all salute Tony for going the extra mile in trying to take a picture of the woman in question in order to ogle that picture later on. Most of us would be content merely with the memory of this lady, but Tony wasn't taking any chances. He wasn't gonna rely on his BRAIN to save that image. I really do admire his sticktuitiveness. Anyway, I think that Tony didn't try hard enough to eliminate his own child from the shot in question. There are things you can do other than cropping to excise a child from a photo. You can Photoshop Tweety Bird over the child. You can replace their head with a Troll Face. Or, best of all, you can clone the Hot Mom's butt and then lay multiple clones on top of your child, turning her into a Butt Child. Problem solved. There's nothing sick about that at all! Seriously though, the fact that you're hesitant to "use" those photos is probably proof that you should never "use" them directly. If I were you, I would use the photo strictly as a refresher course, and then construct a fully realized mental fantasy from there. That's the healthy, respectful way of doing things. Allison: I fear he's just a Cadillac salesman. Heath: The worst part is that, any time it tells me that I filled in my password wrong, I assume instantly that someone has infiltrated my account, taken it over, changed the password, and is digging through all the fanmail I sent privately to Samantha Fox. It's terrifying. And if I botch the password a second time, the terror increases sevenfold. By the third time I enter it, I'm eyefucking the keyboard and punching the shit out of each individual key to ensure a proper password entry. I also resent any website registration that forces me to enter my email twice. You have it once already. Stop making me fill in extra shit. I got it right the first time, you dick. Richard: Oh God no, that would be the saddest thing ever, and that's the BEST CASE scenario. The worst case scenario is that you shut your eyes for the final time and then everyone throws a rager because they thought you were such a huge prick. You know, like when Jay Mariotti dies. Jeremy: 10 hours a day on weekends? Christ, that's awful. The scary thing is that the Bee only has ONE winner, and so you're talking about hundreds of entrants who put in just as much hard work only to leave with their spirits crushed, emotionally scarred for life. That's horrible. We talk about how much football destroys your head, but what of spelling, I ask you? Shouldn't spelling korrektly bee illegul? I thunk soap! Peg: We humans make the top ten because we eat so many different processed foods that animals never touch that a human fart is something of a freakshow to the rest of nature. A quick Google search reveals that dogs and cats are terrible farters because "their anal sphincters don't close as tightly as humans'." So now you know that a loose anus leads causes bad farts, which means you shouldn't hang around Elton John after he's eaten a meal. Email of the Week time. It's a GREAT MOMENT IN POOP HISTORY! Greg: Category:Sick Category:Shit